Ashes, Ashes, The Walls Fall Down
by rowenaphantomhive
Summary: My sequel to the Buon San Valentino strip. Germany's feelings for Italy cause him to have a bit of a breakdown, forcing him to come to terms with his past. GerIta/Germany x Italy, HRE x Chibitalia.
1. Chapter 1: A Rather Disasterous Date

**A/N: Hey, everyone! This is my first fanfic and reviews/constructive criticism will be greatly appreciated. Just so you know, there will be other chapters and they will all probably be twice as long as this one.  
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**Warning: This story is angsty. Germany is angsty. Like, really angsty. At least, I think it is, let me know if I'm just paranoid. There will be lots of cursing in German, not much in English. I also made this story super canon. There will be numerous flashbacks throughout the story based on episodes of the anime and the comics. This entire story is based around the ending of Buon San Valentino, for heaven's sake. (If you haven't read it yet, I would suggest doing so. I think this first chapter pretty well summarizes it, but it probably will make things make more sense.) I'm also trying to tie in actual history with this in the upcoming chapters, so... you have been warned.  
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**I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers. All credit for that wonderful manga/anime and the characters goes to Hidekaz Himaruya.**

**With all that out of the way, enjoy this GerIta~**

* * *

Germany was pretty sure he was having a breakdown. At least, he would be if he was sure of _anything_ anymore.

No, that wasn't true. He knew his heart was ready to jump through his skin. He knew his ragged breaths were tearing his sandpaper dry throat. He knew that he was burning up, but the fever was all in his head. He knew that the only way he was going to get through this was to take a step back and analyze the situation from the beginning and just find some logic in this, somewhere.

Ludwig had always been alone. He couldn't remember if it was simply his nature or a reaction to all the insanity over the centuries, but he had always been stiff and distant. Aloof. No country ever helped him when he was young, so he had little to do with them. Sure, he cared for his neighbor Austria, and even his brother Prussia to some extent. But that was mainly out of duty, and it's not like they were ever grateful for his help. The Allies liked nothing better than to drag him through the mud time and time again. He still twitched every time he remembered how they had forced his people into the gutter after World War I… but that wasn't the point. The point was that it had always been this way. Germany had learned how to be alone a long time ago. He knew how to march on.

Germany most certainly did not know how to deal with that miserable excuse of a descendant from Rome. The spineless, pasta loving idiot had cost him battles time and time again. Italy wasn't an ally; he was worse than dead weight. At least dead weight didn't go get himself lost or beaten up or needed help in the simplest of things. At least dead weight didn't cry, or annoy him, or cook for him, or sleep in his bed, or say the stupidest, cutest things, or make him unbelievably happy and exasperated at the same time…

That was the problem with Feliciano, really. Italy didn't follow the rules, no; Feli changed the rules. If Germany allied with anyone, it was for military advantage, through a cordial but distant relationship. Maybe he would warm up to the awkward, quiet, half-understanding friendship like with Japan, but that was it. There was no casual affection in Germany; every single thing was deliberate and could be neatly categorized at the end of the day. Germany did not bode well with things like confusion and uncertainty. But lately, that's all he had been feeling. Thinking. Remembering.

* * *

_Italy came running up to Germany, crying about something. Germany had to contain a groan. What was it this time? At least, it didn't look like any one had been beating him up. Those French and English saukerls had pissed him off enough already as it was with their damned rumors and propaganda. If they had hurt his ally… _

_"Germany, Germany~ Do you hate me?!" Italy sobbed. _

_The question took the German completely by surprise. "Huh? Uh, uhm, well-" Italy stared at him, tears filling his eyes. Germany stared back, becoming more and more flustered. Feelings were not discussed openly; especially not when those Allied bastards could overhear them!_

_ But as Germany continued to look at Italy, his stony heart began to soften a little bit. Damn proper etiquette, he had to reassure his friend. "Hmm… well, I don't… hate you… yeah…" _

_Apparently, that was enough for Italy because he was immediately back to his cheerful self, tackling Germany with a tearful hug._

* * *

From the moment they had met, Italy had always been like an optimistic burr clinging to one of Germany's boots. Italy had immediately trusted him and tried to be his friend, no matter how many times he had tried to dump him with the Allies. He was always sweet and understanding, and the only time he ever really got upset is when he thought Germany was mad at him. He was ridiculously naïve and innocent, and in need of a protector. How the country had survived so long that way, Ludwig had no idea. But he did know that he didn't really mind having to save Italy anymore, because no matter how stupid the pasta lover was, he was grateful. He appreciated Germany, and that's something no country had ever really done before. Italy trusted him, and he found that he was starting to trust Feli, too. And that was only the beginning. Just when Germany had gotten comfortable calling him a friend, Italy had gone and given him those roses.

Germany had always known that Italy cared for him, that much was obvious. The Dummkopf showered affection on everyone. But before that day, he had never fathomed how deep that care could run. He never allowed himself the possibility. After all, Germany still wasn't used to the idea of countries caring about him. The idea that someone could love him, the arschloch that he was, even if that someone was a man… well, Germany wasn't exactly in any position to turn him down, although the thought of that still made him blush. But he felt more than just flattery and gratitude. He had really felt like a better person since he and Feli had started dating. His boss had remarked on numerous occasions that Germany seemed just… happier than he had in a long time. If Italy was changing the rules…he might be changing them for the better.

Yet somehow, everything had gone to pieces. Ludwig had gone to pieces. In the middle of a restaurant, too, with everyone staring at them (including a particularly horrified Swedish waiter). Italy was freaking out and apologizing, which was normal enough (getting in trouble with Germany was a pretty normal occurrence for him), but that wasn't how this date was supposed to go. Germany didn't know what to do. He had tried to keep up with Italy changing the rules. He had memorized manuals on how to make this work; he had maintained order the best he could, like only Germany could, but it still hadn't been enough. Little black claws of despair began to sink in as he realized the truth. This wasn't something Germany could control or rationalize. Things were changing far too fast for him.

He felt like someone was twisting a knife around in his chest. His brain felt ready to implode. More emotions than he had felt in centuries were swirling around him, beating him, burning him. All the heartbreak, pain, and shame that he had kept so carefully locked away flooded out in a tsunami of consternation. He couldn't focus on one of his frenzied, churning thoughts for more than a couple seconds. _Why isn't this working? Why is he staring at the ring like that? Oh God, maybe the tomato was a bad choice. Maybe I should have picked a meatball, or, or- Why did I do this here? If the waiter would just stop gawking- This could have been avoided- Where's the boy who gave me roses? Was he ever really there? Have I just imagined this whole thing? No, he can't, I can't, what am I doing? Why can't it- just-_

Then Germany became too hysterical to think at all anymore.

"Ve~ you're hurting my arms, Germany, too tight… G-Germany are you all right? Ger- Germany?"

All the panic and embarrassment and longing and confusion just boiled over into white hot pain until everything in him was just pure emotion and chaos. It burned through any logic or defense that his brain could put up.

That was when the last of Germany's walls came crumbling down.

All the hysteria in Germany just seized up and there was only a flickering memory back in the farthest reaches of his mind. He concentrated on it, hoping the shuddering glimpses would somehow make _something_ make sense.

* * *

_A little girl in a maid's uniform was gathering purple flowers. She turned around from her work to look bashfully at him. His hand tucked one of the flowers into her cap. The maid grabbed an armful of flowers and turned back to him, but she was getting farther away. Fading. He could still feel her presence, those scrunched up, adorable amber eyes, and shaggy brown hair. Those soft, chubby cheeks and sweet, shy smile. He knew that face. He had loved that face. _

_He tried to call out to her, to stay, to please stay, to come with him, her name rolling off of his tongue- "I- Italy!"_

* * *

And then memories began to slam into Ludwig's brain with such force that he staggered backwards. Memories he had worked so hard to bury, to move on from, overwhelmed him with all the emotions he had been repressing for so long. At that precise moment, everything clicked in his head. It all made sense now, finally. The only problem was, for once in his life, Ludwig didn't want the truth. He didn't want that truth, those ghosts to rear their ugly heads, for them to torment him, after all this time he thought he had them beaten. Logic and reasoning appealed to Ludwig because numbers had no emotions. Categories could not feel or cause pain. Except sometimes, the only logical explanation was one that stabbed and sliced open a scab, a scar. He never knew how the truth could cut him like a knife, how much it could hurt. Ludwig would do anything to escape this avalanche, this ancient pain. But it was too late. There was no way he could rebuild his walls again.

Ludwig turned away from Italy and ran, ran, ran, ran, as far and fast as he could away from that miserable café. Once, he was better than that. A German, a soldier, would never be so disorderly, so cowardly, as to flee from the face of chaos.

But the Holy Roman Empire most certainly would.

* * *

**A/N: Handy-dandy translator for the German:**

**Saukerl: pig, bastard, etc.**

**Dummkopf: idiot**

**arschloch: asshole**

**Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2: Awfully, Bitterly Familiar

**A/N:**

**Now that that intro is over, let's move on to Chapter 2 and let the real depressing stuff begin! No, seriously. I tried to insert some humor with Italy's part but _lol nope_ and just went full angst-mode for Ludwig's.**

**Disclaimer: This chapter deals with religious angst on Ludwig's part. If you are really sensitive about religion stuff, I would stop reading now. I'm not bashing anything, and personally as a pseudo-Catholic I don't find it particularly offensive, but just trying to be safe here. I don't mean to offend anyone, but you have been warned.**

**I still don't own Hetalia, duh.**

**Anyway, if you haven't been scared off by these garish author notes, enjoy! Please review and let me know what you guys think! I loves da feedback!**

* * *

Italy wiped the tears from his face and began churning out white flags by the dozen. Who knew how many he would need, it being the end of the world and all. It had to be some kind of 8th sign of the apocalypse, the way Germany had been behaving lately. He had been so nice… he hadn't even really yelled at him for months, ve~ (with the exception of tonight). And then, the German just seemed to go crazy. He yelled at Italy for things that had never really bothered him before, or at least, not in a while, and was way, way, _way_, angrier at Italy than he had in a long time. Italy had no idea what he had done wrong, (or rather, _which_ thing he had done wrong) and Germany didn't explain, or at least not in any way that made sense.

Then there were the gifts. Ludwig almost never gave him gifts (stingy and serious as he was), and it certainly didn't fit the mood he was in tonight. For him to give Italy that kind of a gift too… Flowers? A- a _ring_? Maybe that's why Germany got so flustered, because he- no, no, that had to have been because of the horrified looks the waiter was giving them. Ve~ Germany always hated attention like that; that's why he got so angry. That had to be it. And that ring, may- maybe it was just some German custom between friends. Yeah, it was a "best friends" ring. After all, Germany had it shaped like a tomato, ve~ There was no way something so silly could be meant for a lover or anything. Italy laughed. Germany had always had the strangest sense of humor…

But if that was the case, then why was Germany getting so freaked out? The way he had raged at him, and then crushed him in a bear hug.. and then he had really begun to scare Italy. Ludwig had just sort of… held him and stared at him with, with this expression on his face like he was breaking in half… Italy shuddered. He prayed that he wasn't responsible for that look, although he had a nagging suspicion that he was. Guilt and shame washed over him in a dark wave. W- what if Germany had begun to _hate_ him?

* * *

_"Italy! I want to talk to you. Got a minute?" _

_Italy jerked around from the rock he was sitting on, nervously spluttering. "G- Germany!"_

_ The German talked over Italy's stammered greeting. "I won't forget about you just because I'm becoming friends with Russia." Germany looked up at him, his eyebrow twitching. _

_Italy felt a flood of relief wash over him. Germany was so smart and kind, ve~ It was pretty embarrassing, though. He wondered if Germany knew other things he had been thinking about (if so, he was going to be in a lot of trouble) "Whoa! You can tell what I'm thinking?!" _

_"Well, something like that," Germany muttered. "Anyway, just give me your pinky finger." Italy did, and Germany linked it with his own pinky finger. _

_"It symbolizes a pledge. I was told it's how the Japanese make a promise," he explained. "Italy, you'll probably experience dangers more often from now on. Let's make an agreement between us. When you're in danger, I'll cover you without fail. So don't worry about things like that anymore. Oh, but when I'm in danger, you come rescue me, okay? Though I won't get my hopes up." Italy stared at his pinky finger, grinning. A pact with Germany, huh? He liked that. He also liked the bag of wurst that Germany gave him afterwards. He munched on it quite happily. _

_"How is it?" Germany asked. _

_"It tastes good when I eat it on a sunny day," Italy replied. Although, Italy wasn't quite sure whether it was the weather or the warm feeling he got from Germany's friendship that made the sausage edible._

* * *

Sure, that day Germany had reassured him that he wouldn't ever forget about him or hate him, but… Feliciano didn't know much, but he knew that he had never seen Germany so hurt, and maybe this time he had done something to push the German over the edge… Italy bit his lip nervously. He would do anything for his friend not to hate him. Germany could be kind of strict and mean, but that didn't change the fact that he had rescued him every time Italy was in trouble. Ever since the beginning of their alliance, Germany had protected him more fiercely than nearly any other country ever had. Italy wanted to show the same kindness to Germany, too. He tried every way he could think of to show Ludwig that he cared about him. He made him pasta and paintings and tried to be a good soldier in training (even though he was failing miserably.) Italy just wanted his friend to loosen up, to enjoy himself, _to be happy_, ve~

Italy slumped back into his chair and sipped a glass of water. All this guilt and confusion was giving him a headache. He had somehow upset Germany enough that he did the one thing Feliciano never thought he would live to see: a German running away. (That was _his_ job, after all.) And something about it had seemed so awfully, bitterly… familiar.

Italy winced. His headache had become a jackhammering pain from worrying so much. Quickly, he gulped down the last of his water and strode out of the restaurant, ignoring all the stares he was still getting from its patrons. Italy took a deep breath. He didn't know what was wrong with Germany, but he was determined to find out. He would apologize again for whatever it was he did, and they would be okay. Maybe then, he could keep Germany from looking broken like that again. Italy laughed. He liked that maybe he could protect Ludwig in some way, too. Although, Feliciano had never thought that your heart was something you needed protection from, ve~ Silly Germany, he would think something like that.

* * *

Ludwig finally stopped running. Ach, it was no good. He had reached his house and the memories were still there, he was still there. The child who had been touched by God and then tried to play-act as Him down on earth. Memories of the proud empire he used to be, could have been stung the German and he gritted his teeth against the pain. He let out a short, humorless bark of laughter. His name wasn't _Germany_, it was a name far more powerful and ancient than that. He was the Holy Roman Empire and he was _damned_ sure that he was going to kill those Protestant bastards for reducing him to this shell of his former glory… for, oh merciful God, for somehow making him turn his back on the one true faith and into one of _them... _

Ludwig slammed his palm into the wall. Cheeky little schwein, always managing to twist things around to religion. Religion hadn't ever really mattered much to Germany… maybe that was just another way to close off his past, _he_ didn't know. He didn't know how Italy had managed to break through his sealed walls, how his walls had stood so long, gottverdammt, he didn't_ know why_. He tried to slow his ragged breathing, but it was no use. Memory after memory assaulted him: the war, the ruin and destruction, 30 years of it, merciful God. H- his people dying, the disease, the famine, that terrible, terrible plague; being bedridden for years, the never-ending _pain_ of feeling like being torn from limb to limb, as his states began to drift apart and the once proud unity of his Empire crumbled… he crumbled… _that ficker, that saftsack, France he, he dissolved him he killed him he killed him why wasn't he dead? God save him and his people, God save his Italy~_

Italy. Somehow, it always came back to her, didn't it? The girl who taught him to paint, to love, to be happy, she was always the one- no, _he_. Ludwig frowned. Two very different images clashed and dueled in his mind: the soft-spoken maid from his youth and the annoying, hyper man he knew today. How- how could they both be Italy? She… she, oh, no. He. The pain in Ludwig's gut intensified. How many times had that needy country snuck into his bed over the years (and before he had even wanted it, too)? More often times than not, Italy liked to sleep… naked. There was no way he was anything but a man.

Ludwig had to fight the urge to throw up. All those beautiful memories, the only thing he had, the only thing he had to hope for during the Thirty Years War… were they tainted now? All his daydreams about Italy becoming his blushing bride… they could never come true. He had loved a boy. Oh, merciful God, he still loved the boy. He had fallen in love with Feli all over again, knowing he was a man… no. No, he could not do this, this violation of God's law, this violation to his faith, no. _Man shall not lie with another man, it is an abomination_.

_ But,_ Ludwig thought a little madly,_ neither of us are really men, are we? We're countries. Just countries. It's ridiculous to think of ourselves so human as to commit an abomination by having a union- _

_NO. _

_We may be countries, but we are more than land. We have hearts and souls and dreams and can love and feel._

So _what_? So what if they were both men? He loved Italy. Ludwig thought that God could forgive him if that was such a terrible sin. God seemed to overlook a lot of monstrous things the countries had done to each other over the years. Surely, love was a lot less offensive than all the war and hatred sown over the world. Surely, God would overlook this too? But… he had been touched by God, chosen to lead Europe to the true faith… surely, he had to live to a standard higher than "God might overlook it". Ludwig nervously yanked at his hair, his carefully combed-back fringe starting to fall in front of his face.

Maybe he was chosen by God; that was one of the only explanations he had for how he had managed to survive his dissolution. But this was a different world than the one he had grown up in. This was one where he had learned to think critically, to evaluate all of his options logically. And logic told him that maybe, if after becoming a new man he had still fallen in love with Feliciano, that maybe that was God's plan for him after all. Ludwig refused to let his love for Italy be tainted, as another memory washed over him.

* * *

_He extended his hand to her, coming up the grassy slope. His heart pounded in his ears. This was it. This time, she had to join his empire. If he went off to war without her at his side… he didn't know if he could win. He didn't know if he wanted to win. _

_"Italy, seriously, will you become the Holy Roman Empire with me? Let's create the strongest country in the world together." _

_She stared at him for a long moment, then looked down at her sweeping. "No," she whispered. _

_For a second, his heart broke, but then anger set in. How could she still say no? "Why? You don't want to spend your life in a place like this forever, right?! I'm sure you want to return to the once strong Roman Empire!" he shouted, shaking her. _

_"B- but, but Grandpa Rome fell because he became too big. Grandpa's body was covered with scars and it looked very painful. I don't want to see you become like that. Don't become Rome. I like you the way you are right now, Holy Rome. So, please..." she trailed off, taking his hand, her eyes overflowing with tears. _

_He stared at her, feeling his heart break into a million tiny pieces. She didn't understand. She was just too naïve. He had to become great, he had to. He had to fulfill God's plan for him. He had to grow big and strong so he could marry her one day. Even if she couldn't understand a man's ambition, maybe when she was older she could understand that. This was killing him, but he had to do it._

_ He yanked his hand back, turned around, and ran away, ran, ran, ran, as far and fast as he could, a few tears escaping along the way. He could hear her sobs echoing behind him, but he kept going. He knew if he stopped now, then he would give in and not go to war. The tears fell fast and plentiful now. The only thing left to do was to pray, pray that one day she would forgive him, even if he wasn't sure if he could forgive himself._

* * *

Ludwig gasped as another painful bolt of realization struck him in the chest, and almost became sick again. Oh God, oh merciful God, he had done it _again_. He had sworn to himself; sworn to God that he would never, ever do something like that again, but here he was. He had left Italy, left him in tears; he had run away from the one he loved when he had made them cry. _Again._ Whether it was in a café or on a hill, what did it matter? He had committed the same damn crime. What kind of a coward, what sort of monster was he to hurt his Italy so blindly like that again? How could he be forgiven now?

Ludwig fell back against his back door and slumped to the ground with a loud thump. He put his head in his hands as sobs racked his body. The final shreds of his walls fell as he surrendered himself to the endless storm of tears that he had held back for centuries.

* * *

**A/N:  
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**Yay! Depressing ending! (I promise the next chapter will be a bit more light-hearted.) Again, please review. It motivates them updates!  
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